Dubious Moves

The man wiped his forehead and looked at the mountain in the distance. The heat was sapping. He was secretly surprised at his own lack of internal conflict. Did it in some way reflect upon his own humanity ?

The man wiped his forehead, and saw the milling crowds, the evening rush. The heat was sapping. He was secretly surprised at his own lack of internal conflict. Did it in some way reflect upon his own humanity? Then the anticipation of atavistic satiety of bloodlust came upon him, and he joined in.

He looked at his son, the promised one. At the embodiment of hopes and dreams; some the child’s, some his mothers, some his own. And knew that one sweep of his arm would bring it all to an end. And found that predominantly, his emotion was one of righteous pride, that he had been tested and not found wanting.

He looked at the children rushing, the crowd both uncaring and roughly pushing them into the safety of the jammed interior from the footboard. The first class compartment had its share of the fresh-faced junior executives, trying to retain a composed demeanour amongst the rush trying to ensure their shirts were not creased too much. And found that predominantly, his emotion was one of righteous pride, that he had been tested and not found wanting.

…

The waiting was over. He lifted his hand, and in a fell swoop, scythed through the air, ready for that spurt of blood from the throat that would paint him in shades of the Believer forever … when an angel’s hand stopped him.

The waiting was over. He had placed the bag in the first class compartment, and his watch told him the synchronised moment was at hand. He lifted his hand, and taking out a mobile, punched the numbers of the mobile that was in the bag, that had been modified to act as a remote detonator.

Which is why I say to these people, get yourself a reality check. Every religion asks for sacrifice. You can argue all you want about the Knight of Infinite Resignation being a precursor to the Knight of Faith : in reality, there is no angel to ensure a happy ending.

And while at it, spare us your jingoistic “kill all the bastards” tirades. If your sole solace lies in drumming up “us versus them” patriotic fervour, you have lost already. For “ Kill all the bastards” is what the other side is advocating anyway.

Repeat, slowly after me : There is *no* big picture. There is *no* fucking Man/Woman/Thing Up Above, *no* fucking idea that is worth one bloody corpse consisting of assorted body parts wrapped in a tarpaulin in a municipal morgue.

That includes all of *our* ideas as well as *theirs*.